


not once but always

by estelares



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelares/pseuds/estelares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Day Jim Kirk Died And Was Revived is also, perhaps more famously, remembered as The Day Spock Lost His Proverbial Marbles and nearly killed a superhuman who had fucking regenerative blood, for crying out loud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> INTO THE DARKNESS SPOILERS!!!
> 
> I haven't written in so long. It's good to be back.
> 
> hope this is okay etc i'm pretty much neck deep in feels  
> (this is unbeta'd too, so sorry for any mistakes.)

 

'He'd let you die.'

 McCoy said this in a short, clipped tone because he had thought that:

a) this was what Jim needed to hear, for the sakes of everybody on board whose lives Jim might potentially be risking to save Spock, not to mention throwing the goddamned Prime Directive out the window, and;   
b) that it was probably true anyway.

Turns out that letting Jim Kirk die is, for some reason, number one on Spock's list of Things That Absolutely Cannot Happen Under Any Circumstance.

 

He contemplates this serious oversight occasionally in the aftermath, leaning over once again to check on Jim for the fifth time that day. Although checking on patients is what nurses are there for, McCoy will not admit this is excessive, since it's his best friend and his patient both, so that probably works out to be double time for him anyway. He'd also gotten used to the figure sitting, unmoving, in the visitor's chair by the bedside, long having given up persuading, coaxing and threatening Spock to rest or eat or just move around and get some air.

'That is unnecessary and irrelevant to your concern, Doctor,' was the flat reply. Any further attempt to engage him was met with a single, raised eyebrow.

Leonard McCoy is well acquainted with the Vulcan death glare, thank you very much.

 

After the sheer, blinding panic and making it out of the wreckage and the shock that _they're all alive, they all made it_ faded - which for McCoy and many others lasted only a few seconds anyway because Jim needed medical attention, _now_ ; and even as his destroyed cells were slowly healing with superhuman blood coursing through his veins McCoy knew that they weren't out of the woods yet because it's not like there are volumes of medical journals dedicated to the effects of alien regenerative blood on reviving dead cells caused by radiation. For all he knows Jim's body might suddenly decide to reject the transfusion, or he might wake up and go on a killing rampage, as per the nature of his blood donor. Definitely not out of the woods yet.

They were lauded with praise once everybody knew what had happened. The reports were duly written. The whole crew was given commendations of some sort, and also extended leave to recover.

(Chief Medical Officer McCoy: special commendation for excelling under extraordinary circumstances in the field of medicine.

First Officer Spock: special commendation for going above and beyond the line of duty in the name of justice.

And by that everybody knows they actually mean capturing a highly dangerous criminal and saving the galaxy from a genocidal megalomaniac. Or something like that.

Regardless, no one outside The Enterprise will know what the connection was between the two. It was for the best that it stays this way.)

 

But really, it was very unsettling (read: bloody terrifying) to see Spock like that, nearly physically, tangibly ablaze with rage; to hear that furious roar rip out of his throat and to see him rushing around the bridge barking orders with a voice that _shook_ \- and it was fucking surreal when Spock reappears in front of him just moments later, Uhura right behind, wordless and panting with an unconscious Khan at his feet. Spock had a fractured wrist, three broken fingers and bleeding knuckles but hissed when Bones tried to offer him a hypospray for the pain, refusing to be treated before it was evident beyond a reasonable doubt that Captain Kirk has been revived. While he was choking with grief and trying to breathe as his training kicks in, trying to reason that this could work, that _this could save Jim_ (and damned if he doesn’t want to remember the worst half hour of his existence) Spock had run the bastard responsible down and beat him within an inch of his life. The bastard being a three hundred year old superhuman who could jump thirty feet and whose blood can reverse the effects of severe radioactive poisoning.

He later finds out that the remaining inch of Khan's life was spared only when Uhura managed to scream past the Vulcan murderous haze that it was the only way they had to save Kirk.

Jesus Christ.

There are so many things med school doesn't prepare you for. McCoy briefly considers filing some sort of complaint, with the agenda titled Why The Fuck Didn’t You Teach Me Any Of This Shit?

 

\---

 

James Tiberius Kirk was officially in a coma for two weeks (fourteen days and six hours and twenty four minutes) and Spock was there for one point nine of those weeks.

(The time Spock was not by his side was spent reporting to Headquarters and tersely telling anybody else who dared approach him to cease and desist, immediately.)

Two weeks to meditate and re-evaluate that which he had previously held to be true.

In reality, and perhaps in hindsight, Spock only needed the few, blurred seconds that it took for frightened, shining blue eyes to dim and a still-warm hand to slide downwards, lifeless, on the other side of the door.

'I'm scared, Spock-' the vulnerable, cracked voice of his Captain echoes through him, and shakes him silently, even as he sits beside Jim, listening to his steady heartbeat. In his mind he still sees a dying man trapped behind a layer of impenetrable glass, hears Jim's shuddering, faltering breaths, and feels the burning wetness of his own eyes.

His world has shifted.  

_Do you know why I came back for you?_

(It should be assumed that all life is of equal value but -)

Jim Kirk was ( _and will continue to be_ , Spock thinks with a tinge of vehemence) a good captain. He has all the requisite qualities for leadership. He is charismatic and highly intelligent. He is kind, generous and empathetic to all he comes across; exceedingly enthusiastic in every task he approaches. He is a quick study, and has a strong sense of loyalty, a strong sense of honour. Jim Kirk considers the needs of all parties before taking action, and makes decisions based on sound judgement - most of the time.

But he is also incredibly reckless.

He is headstrong, cocky, and altogether too emotional. Jim Kirk grins in the face of certain imminent danger and says, ‘bring it.’  He jokes between breaths during hand-to-hand combat with hostiles, and finds the time to banter with McCoy midway through delicate operations. He makes split-second decisions based on what he calls a ‘gut feeling’ - Spock never hesitating to inform his Captain that his intestines play no part in mental function - and despite all of this, against all odds, their safety has always been guaranteed by this instinct. (Sometimes precariously, and at great cost, but nonetheless.)

There is something about him that burns too fast, too bright.There is a magnetism to him, a force that seems to draw all those around him closer. He is the adhesive that binds them together. There is no crew, no ship, no family without their Captain.

Jim Kirk also seems to believe that everyone else on the team is indispensable, with the exception of himself.

This, Spock begins to realise, is unacceptable.

 

\--

 

Some nights, when meditation is useless and he is sure no other was within sight and sound, Spock would gently place two fingers on the thin, pale underside of Jim's wrist, directly above a pulse point, and feel the settling of his own.

Spock knows he does not like to lose. He knows the deep, irrevocable grief of losing his people, his kin ( _mother-_ ) has marked him and changed him. But what he had apparently grossly miscalculated was the importance of this one human, and how _affected_ he would become if -

Spock seems to have made the grave mistake of classifying Jim Kirk not as a variable, but as an unchanging constant.

 

Logically, it was ridiculous.

His behaviour was inexcusable. Appalling, even, to display such possessive behaviour to another who was not the intended, the bondmate. Maybe it was the human side of him speaking, but he really can't bring himself to care.

Uhura came to visit twice. On the second day, she took one look at Spock, who had not moved since she last came by (hands folded, focus alternating between Jim's face and the screen displaying his vitals) and promptly broke things off.

  
'It's easier this way, trust me.' She said this with a resigned sadness (but steadily all the same) and sighed - waving off Spock's look of confusion that broke her a little inside (‘Nyota, what are you-’) and kissed him for the last time, gently.

Spock stares at her retreating figure.

Perhaps their situation is due for a change.

 

\--

 

Jim Kirk, Spock had concluded quite soon after they first met, is quite aesthetically appealing. It did not, however, change his assessment (flawed as it was) that this human is above all a reckless, arrogant health hazard who he had been assigned to, essentially, babysit.

The situation now could not be more different.

Jim was physically attractive, yes - anyone can attest to that. But his mind and his heart is what makes him extraordinary, above any other being Spock has encountered across the galaxy. His limitless capacity for empathy and kindness, the way he is fiercely affectionate and open in a way that Spock struggles to comprehend, in the same way that his mother was - it made him ache with curiosity, with a longing that tugs on the human emotions he has to set aside daily, locked under tightly bound chains of logic and rationality.

He is fascinating.

When Jim flashes him a quick grin - all teeth, wicked and bright - that tells him his Captain is about to do something Jim knows Spock won’t approve of; when he can feel Jim’s gaze follow him as he walks across the bridge with an intensity he observes is absent when the same gaze is focused on other people; and when it’s dark, quiet and they’re in a safe zone, standing shoulder to shoulder on the observation deck as Jim smiles and yawns like there’s nowhere else he would rather be at that very moment -

When things like that happens, the weak, unscientific, vague and distressing human word comes to mind.

_Maybe._

Overriding all of this is, of course, the strong empirical evidence to suggest all Jim feels for his First Officer is a strong platonic bond.

Out of all the romantic encounters Jim has had, an overwhelming percentage of his partners had been female, human, and conventionally beautiful. All lower ranking, ranging from Engineers to Communication officers. Light hair, pale eyes, small hands and small feet. None were scientists. There were aliens too - Andorian, Orion, Romulan - but the fact remains that Jim Kirk is 95.4% likely to be heterosexual and attracted to the exact opposite of what Spock embodies.

 

However, it should be said that Jim Kirk also has a tendency to defy all odds.

 

\--

  
At fourteen days, six hours and twenty five minutes, the coma breaks.


	2. Chapter 2

Spock is immediately on his feet.

‘He’s coming round,’ McCoy said with amazement, mostly to himself, as Jim’s breathing rate begins to change and he and Spock both watches with great trepidation as his shoulders shifted, eyes beginning to move under closed lids.

The doctor begins to move briskly around the room, sending a message over the intercom with a quick tap and making the additional request of having security to stand by outside the ward, with phasers activated - they are taking no chances.

Bones privately reflects how it would destroy him if it became necessary that such measures was needed. Spock too, of course, McCoy amends mentally. The poor man had watched Kirk die once already, and god knows what that’s done to him.

For the sake of everyone, McCoy hopes with every fiber of his being that it won’t come to this, again.

 

A soft, confused sound emanates from the bed and McCoy thinks he’s never been so nervous in his entire life.

Slits of blue slowly widen into a drowsy, muddled gaze as Jim stares at Spock, who seems to be frozen on his feet.

Something shifts, and clicks.

Jim looks over to McCoy, who is fighting the urge to fidget, then back at Spock, and breaks into a small smile.

They all know this smile well - it’s the one that says _guys, I can’t quite believe it but I think we made it_. McCoy swears under his breath and reaches behind him to call security off. Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he saw Spock offer a tentative, barely-there smile in return.

_You bet your stubborn, infuriating little ass we made it._

 

\--

The rest of that day is lost in a flurry of movement, sound and a tangible wave of relief - a relief not at all attributed to a newly revived Starfleet captain. True to superhuman form, Jim is sitting up within minutes of regaining consciousness, having made an extraordinary recovery (‘this bed sucks, I hate hospitals, can I get up yet, I swear I feel fine-’ ‘No. Lie back down. Don’t make me use tranquilisers, because I have them and I will use them, James Ti-’ ‘Okay, _okay,_ jeez Bones!’), demanding to know everything that he’s missed.

 _Bones_. God it was good to hear that nickname again.

Spock is mostly silent, his own hands behind his back, watching as Jim rediscovers himself in marvel. McCoy thinks he sees the flicker of amusement when Jim looks under the covers for the birthmark on his foot. Yep, still there.

He doesn’t want to say much, it seems, content to soak in the sight of their Captain, alive and well.

So it’s up to Bones to fuss over him like he always does and complain about how Jim is solely responsible for shaving at least ten years off his life with that stunt he pulled - god, he’s got a lot to complain about - and to tell him that he’ll be informed of everything in due time, but right now, would Jim like to see his crew, because they’re kind of blocking the hospital hallway and the nurses aren’t impressed and everybody is dying to see him?

 

Yes, yes, a thousand times yes, Jim grins as the door opens and Uhura is the first through with a choked sob, sweeping Jim into a hug as soon as she gets close enough. Scotty, white with anxiety, barely manages to utter a word as he shook Jim’s hand fervently. ‘Thank god, Jesus Christ, I am so sorry,’ he murmurs again and again. Chekhov is beside himself in delight, smile wide enough to split his face, while Sulu claps Jim on the back gingerly and tells him he’s been missed.

‘About fuckin’ time,’ McCoy grumbles as he waits for his turn to squeeze Jim with a bone-crushing hug. ‘Damn straight you should be,’ he retorts when Jim whines jokingly about Bones turning into a mother hen and how it’s really scaring him.

When Jim looks up, searching, around the room, past the heads of his crew, and the smile on his face fades slightly, Bones realises Spock has disappeared.

 

\--

 

Jim is walking around by the same afternoon, discharged from hospital and resettled into his apartment - much to Bones’ irritation. Commander Spock has been informed of this development via his personal communication channel by the good doctor, who also expressed his unnecessary concern once again that Spock had taken his leave without a word.

 

Spock unfolds his legs from the meditative stance and walks to stand next to his window, overlooking the glowing cityscape of San Francisco at night.

The moment Jim opened his eyes, there had been the most fleeting flash of panic when he didn't recognise where he was, why was he lying down, is everyone safe, what happened, _Khan-_

And then he sees Spock, meets his steady, dark gaze, and recognition settles within him like the skies after a storm. A calm, quiet euphoria breaks through when Jim realises what this means for them - a brightness like dawn, like morning light.

Spock is reminded of the times when Jim would almost instinctively find him, whether with an outstretched hand, a searching look or a blip across his screen - when the landing party is met with hostility or were accidentally attacked by native fauna, when they emerge from the wreck and smoke of a battle or extricate themselves safely from a volatile diplomatic situation, oftentimes Jim only managing to avoid intergalactical disaster by the skin of his teeth. And when he does find Spock, across the room or right there next to him; shaking the debris from his shoulders or unfurling himself from a crouch that hid him from enemy fire - Spock would meet him always with a steady gaze, conveying everything he needed to know in a single glance. _All is well, Captain._

(It is the way it has always been.)

The thought of that simple gesture potentially never happening again seized him as Spock fights the overwhelming urge to touch, to reach out and to reassure himself more than anything of the precious bright blue that meant it was finally over.

Finding himself awash with an intense sense of relief that seemed logically unwarranted, he pins his traitorous hands behind his back and stands slightly away, watching the rest of the crew descend on their Captain.

For once, he can empathise.

Jim is _alive,_ vibrant in his happiness, surrounded by people who care most about him; and there is an ache Spock feels within that clamours for attention, that wants to grab hold of and keep.

With a sensation Spock can only describe as 'sinking', he realises what this means for him. And then responds promptly with the most logical step he could think of at that moment: to retreat.

 

It is past nightfall now, and all attempts at cleansing himself of emotional turmoil were in vain.

When he closes his eyes he is back in front of the reactor chamber, frozen and on his knees. Reaching. Blue eyes hazy, terrified and fading. The glass ice-cold, his fingers trembling as they move to mirror the _ta’al_ that Jim’s hand had formed and Spock _feels_ , the intensity of grief and frustration shaking through him in a way that he had not known possible. Not again.

When he opens his eyes, there is nothing.

 

The feeling of failure is cold. Helpless. He cannot even protect those whom he holds dear - Spock knows this, knows that it is irrational to expect that he can save everyone.

And yet.

He needs - wants, against all reason - to hear the gentle, steady rhythm of a beating human heart, feel it under his fingertips, so he knows, so that he’s _sure_ -

A very familiar voice comes across the comm in his quarters.

‘Spock?’

‘Captain,’ he returns automatically, too offguard to respond in any other manner.

'Hey,' Jim acknowledges.

A pause.

'Could you...come over for a sec?'

His voice is sleep-warm and muffled, as if stifling a yawn.

'I'm exhausted and I haven't seen you all day,' he tacks on at the end, slightly accusative.

'Surely rest is more appropriate given the state of your-'

He can hear a huff on the other side.

The sound of shifting.

'Please?'

The word is tentative. Softer than usual, and edged with vulnerability.

_Maybe._

'As you wish, Captain.'

The transmission clicked, and fell offline. Spock stares at his hands, folded neatly on top of his lap.

 

Spock has always tried to make decisions that were rational and strictly adherent to the legal and moral codes to which he is bound. In the interests of justice, of his people, his Captain and fellow officers; in the interests of the Prime Directive. And he has always prided himself in doing so.

Joining Starfleet had been his one and only selfish choice. One which, now he realises, was one of his wisest.

Perhaps the time is right for another selfish - and dare he say, reckless - decision.

 

\--

 

Jim Kirk is sitting crosslegged on his bed, wearing loose pants and the standard-issue black short-sleeve.

Bedcovers rumpled, shoved aside. The room is dimly lit, as if set for a human’s eyes to adjust after a long sleep. But even in the half-darkness Spock can still see Jim’s face light up as soon as he enters.

He stands halfway between the door and where Jim is sitting, and doesn’t know what to say.

He thinks about the fragile, flickering nature of humans.

While on The Enterprise, Jim had tried, many times, to tell Spock why he came back for him on Nibiru, risking his ship, risking _himself_ -

Each time Spock refused to understand, to comprehend the leap in logic required to value one inconsequential life over the fate of countless others. Each time, he did not seek to question the anger and betrayal that flickered in Jim's eyes. Largely because it was irrelevant and he had his own duties to focus on, and also because he had not dared to hope.

_Maybe._

He's already lost so many already. He cannot - _will not_ let it happen again.

‘Hey,’ breaking his meditations, Spock realises Jim is still looking at him with a small smile.

He beckons with his right hand, gesturing at the empty space on the bed next to him.

‘C’mere.’

Unsure of the slang term Jim just used, he tilts his head fractionally, but obeys nonetheless.

'So,’ Jim drawls, never being one to dance around the subject, a wide grin forming as he leans in, pulling a conspiratorial face. ‘I heard somebody lost their shit while I was under.'

Spock bristles, feeling the need to defend the proportionality of his actions.

'You were not ‘under’, Captain, you were officially dead for-'

'Jim.'

'I beg your pardon?'

‘Jesus, Spock, can you at least call me by my name when you’re lecturing me about how I _actually_ got myself killed this time?’ He runs a hand through his hair while he says this, looking across at Spock with exasperated affection.

Jim is not angry with him, Spock notes. There is a vague feeling of irritation in his words, but also something else he is hesitant to define.

‘Jim,’ Spock repeats, and falls silent. He thinks he should leave, but does not.

 

Sighing once more, Jim shuffles slightly closer as the joking grin fades, peering at Spock with clear eyes.

‘I heard about what you did.’ He takes a breath, and continues. ‘For me. You know, after-’ he stops there, and swallows.

‘It’s - I mean...you, of all people...’

Spock can see the flush creeping up his neck, hears the stray stuttering of his heartbeat.

‘We do not have to discuss anything that makes you uncomfortable.’

‘No.’ Jim’s hands close into resolute fists, his mouth set in a firm line. ‘I want to know. I want you to show me.’

To this he receives a blank stare.

‘You know,’ Jim waves vaguely at the side of his face. ‘The melding thing. Figures it’s easier than talking, right?’

 

Surprise, then. Jim clearly doesn’t understand the nature of his request.

‘A mindmeld,’ Spock begins, lifting his right arm, fingers in the correct position to indicate the location of his psi points, ‘is -’

This gets him an eye roll. ‘Save the lecture, Professor, I already know what happens.’

Spock’s eyes narrow, hand still hovering above Jim’s face. ‘How could you possibly know -’

‘Well,’ Jim says, ignoring Spock’s disapproval that he’d been interrupted again. ‘You - I mean, your older self, I guess, did a mindmeld thing once because-’

He withdraws his hand sharply, a foreign feeling tightening his chest. He does not tell Jim that the joining of two minds is a very _intimate_ act, most commonly done with those who are considered family, or between bondmates, unless under exceptional circumstances.

Jim frowns. ‘What?’

‘What did he show you,’ Spock demands, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

‘Just a bunch of images, Spock, he said it would be easier than speaking. Mainly about how much of a jerk I am being.’ Slanting him a look, Jim’s eyebrows raise as he begins to grin. ‘You’re not jealous, are you?’

He mentally shrinks at being so transparent.

‘To be jealous is illogical, especially of myself.’

Jim is still looking at him with that expression, the one that indicates he doesn’t believe Spock at all. Curiously, he finds that he doesn’t mind. ‘If you say so,’ Jim says, smile widening as he reaches for Spock’s wrist. ‘Are you going to get on with it now?’

Heat floods down his spine as soon as Jim’s forefinger and thumb close around his wrist, pulling. _Is Jim aware of_ \- Spock lifts his gaze to meet Jim’s eyes, and barely manages to contain a shiver at the burning intensity he finds there. There is an answer - _yes_ \- but also a challenge in those blue eyes. _Will you?_

He has never been more open than he is, right this moment.

Jim does not break eye contact as he guides Spock’s hand back towards his face - gently, but firmly. They both know Spock is far, far stronger. Spock lets himself be pulled, because if there was ever a boundary, it has already been crossed from the moment Engineer Scott called him down to the reactor room.

_For you, anything._

Kirk gasps quietly as Spock’s consciousness begins to saturate his mind. The grip on his wrist tightens.

 

_Scotty's voice, subdued and solemn. ‘...and you’d better be quick.’_

_He is running. Sheer panic nearly blindsides him as his feet take him through the halls - the legally required order that someone else takes command forgotten, a cold, sinking feeling that makes him sprint as fast as he possibly can - Jim, no, what have you done?_

_He is on his knees. He is reaching for someone, someone immeasurably important, someone beyond his power to save; the desperation choking him - no no no nonono don’t, please don’t - Jim sees his own pale, ashen face behind panes of thick glass, reaching back. His eyes are wet, there are tears and he does not recognise what they mean. There is nothing else. Bright blue flickers, fades - grief raises its ugly, roaring head and engulfs him as Jim’s hand falls and he is still reaching, reaching -_

_Jim’s face disappears, morphs into a woman with dark hair and warm honey eyes stricken with fear, calling his name - he wants her safe, wants her in his arms, but the smoke and rubble surrounds her and she is gone. The loss is a sharp, jagged pain, immense to the point of blinding him, even as a shadow of a nightmare long gone. He is left with arms outstretched, reaching for people who he is powerless to help._

_An entire planet disintegrates._

_Jim is gone._

_The grief and rage rips through him with a furious howl and he burns for blood, for vengeance. He will honour, he will avenge -_

_He is throwing himself at Khan, the savage anger almost crawling out of his skin. He will make this man pay, at whatever cost it must be. He has Khan at his feet and ignores the way his own hands bleed and scream at him, striking out with all the strength that he possesses. For all the inane conversations he will never have with Jim, for the reckless bravery and stubbornness that has saved them time and time again, for the way Jim is, flawed and beautiful and unafraid, for all the galaxies that they won’t see, for the way it will never be again-_

 

Spock does not realise he had been shaking violently until there is a hand at the nape of his neck.

He breaks the meld with a start and dimly notes that there are now two hands on his face, that Jim’s eyes are bright with unshed tears and that they’re both gasping for breath and only has the time to exhale once when Jim moves forward with his whole body and kisses him.

Spock, for all of his rationality, freezes for a split second, eyes flying open and so, so cautious. His hands tentatively come around Jim’s face when he’s certain that Jim wasn’t going to jerk away, to push away and apologise and leave.

‘You have no idea, do you,’ Jim mumbles breathlessly, perhaps sensing his hesitancy, mouthing at his jaw, the skin behind his ear. Spock isn't sure what he means. Fingers tracing his hemline, tugging at his uniform - searching for skin.

'You were gone,' Spock says faintly. 'You were gone and I, I _could not_ -'

Jim makes a broken sound in reply and reaches to kiss the remainder of that sentence away, thumbs rubbing tender circles at the nape of his neck. 'I'm right here,' he murmurs just as quietly, lapping gently at the underside of Spock's jaw. 'Not leaving.' _Not leaving you,_ he thinks as he breathes these words wetly into the curve there, solid and alive and reassuring, until the shaking fades away.

They stay like that until Jim chances a playful nibble at the tip of a pointed ear, and Spock makes an aborted, sharp noise in the back of his throat. The heat rises again, and he is struck with the need to _feel_ , the need to learn every plane, line and curve of Jim's body, every eyelash and freckle. His hips shift, restless and pinned by Jim's thighs - Jim hums his approval as he leans forward and resumes working on divesting Spock of his uniform.

His breathing is hitching again and Spock regains enough equilibrium to see darkened cobalt eyes and a slick, red mouth that he can’t help but press against once more, wanting to memorise the shape of his lips and the way they part under him when Jim makes another choked, desperate sound.

The kiss falls apart within seconds from the relief and desperation and pent-up _wanting_ that seems to have evaporated what's left of Spock’s tattered mental shields, Jim tilting his face with one hand and keeping him there, mouth slanting hot and hard, tongue sliding against the shear of his teeth and it was all Spock could do to stay upright and be thoroughly kissed.

'Clothes. Off.' Jim demands, hands tugging at the jacket that's half off his shoulders. He wordlessly obliges. Giving him a burning, appreciative look, Jim presses closer in one fluid motion, fitting their mouths together with a turn of his head.

The proximity is overwhelming. He feels all of Jim’s emotions pouring out from his touches, from the searing kisses Jim is leaving along his jaw and the way Jim’s fingers are scrabbling against the fabric of his shirt as if protesting its existence and it’s almost too much - _all this time, all this time_ and _god fucking damn it spock_ and _come here comeherewantyouwantyousomuch_ \- Spock lets a groan escape and feels the last of his control crumble with the aching familiarity.

He allows himself to be undressed, the fiery affection to surge and claw at him, demanding that he hold Jim as close as it is physically possible. Still dizzy with awe and disbelief, Spock responds with stunned sounds and halted, stuttering breaths, kissing back like it would physically hurt to be doing anything else, like he’s expecting to be told to stop but he can’t, can’t stop even if the universe was about to end, even if his life depended on it.

It’s frantic and messy and Jim moans in earnest against his mouth as his hands snarl themselves with Spock’s hair and he instinctively swallows the sound, shuddering as he feels his arousal spike. There is a sensation of tearing fabric that he barely registers, and it is only when he feels a surprised laugh against his shoulder that he realises he had accidentally ripped Jim's black undershirt into two.

'That's, um, really hot,' he informs Spock as he catches hold of the offending hand by the wrist and holds it up for inspection. Before Spock could read the intent in his eyes Jim seals his mouth to the centre of his palm and _sucks,_ hard.

Spock's eyes nearly roll back in the sheer pleasure of it, the dormant nerves in his fingers ablaze. He does not remember the last time he has been this aroused; does not want to, because it is no longer relevant.

Jim grins at him in evident delight. 'Vulcan hand sensitivity hypothesis: proven.'

'It was, _ah,_ always a fact, albeit unknown, that -' Keeping his hold on Spock's wrist, Jim twisted his hand lightly so he can press a kiss on the side of his thumb, and then it is an onslaught of tongue and teeth that sets his nerve endings on fire and goes straight to his groin. '...that our hands - are _sensitive_.'

Spock is immeasurably proud of himself for finishing that sentence, breathing hard as Jim sucks on his index finger lazily, other hand settling at the curve of his hip.

'Mhmm,' was the reply as Jim is still teething at his digits, mouth dipping to suckle on the tender stretch of skin between his index and middle finger. Spock does not dignify that with an answer, trying not to whine as the vibrations from his throat shake him to his core.

By the time Jim sets his teeth lightly on his ring finger Spock is about to shake out of his skin in unbearable pleasure and he realises he is so aroused he can barely see. He makes a primal, dark sound he has never heard from himself before and decides this is not the time to question it.

Jim yelps with laughter when he finds himself flat on his back the next moment and Spock hovering over him, eyes almost black. His pants have also been removed, Jim notes hazily - sneaky Vulcan bastard.

'My god I should have done that sooner,' he gasps breathlessly as Spock sucks a bruise into the skin of his collarbone. The barest hint of teeth on his nipple makes him arch right off the bed with a cry, and he hears Spock inhale sharply when their hips align. He has never been so hard in his life.

‘Fuck,’ he manages through the arousal that blazes white-hot. Their hips snap together again and it’s Spock’s turn let out a shocked moan as Jim thrusts up against him - Jim has no idea when all their clothes disappeared but does not object in the slightest.

A hand comes between where they are touching - straining, already slick with precome - and Jim arches his neck, keening as Spock pumps them both. Spock makes a sound in response like all the air has been punched from his lungs.

‘Spock, _ah,_ shit, I’m not going to last if-’ he chokes and the rest of his words are a ragged mess when Spock drags his head down for a savage, thorough kiss. Fingers find his face again and before the question leaves his mouth Jim is nodding _yes, yes, do it_.

The meld this time is a fierce rush of affection and tangled emotions that meet each other halfway - _I thought I would never have you like this,_ Jim thinks in a half-panicked daze and there is the briefest flash of fear, of _what if this is it_ and an image of Spock standing up and leaving that sends the real Spock reeling with a possessive snarl as he tries to both mentally and physically obliterate that manifestation of doubt in Jim’s mind, and projects instead the bone-deep devotion that he realises he’s always had; images of him kissing Jim against the glass of the observatory deck, shielded by the dark; Jim laughing low and dirty as he _takes_ him, addicted to the feeling of Jim opening around him - fast and deep, slow and sweet, anything and everything, _never and always_ -

‘Fuck, that’s -’ Jim is close, so _close_ , a whine high in his throat as he bucks involuntarily in Spock's hand, fingers digging into his hips. 'Please, Spock, I can't,' he chants, hair sweat dark and words falling out of his mouth like he can't help it anymore.

_Anything, t’hy’la._

Spock urges him on, feeling his own release coiling tight in his belly - faster, _oh_ \- and with the last of his remaining mental faculties, twists his wrist sharply. 

Jim comes with a strangled shout and a blinding, shocking rush of pleasure that floods over the mental link and pulls him under too, shuddering as he lets himself fall.

 

They lie in a tangled, graceless heap on the bed and although this would be deemed unhygienic, Spock concludes it is entirely unnecessary for him to move. Fingers trace absent circles on his upper back. Jim blinks at him, projecting a sated, boneless happiness that he can feel, thrumming on the surface of his skin. Spock can sense he wants to speak.

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of Jim and he props himself up on one elbow to look at Spock, eyes bright and searching.

 

‘T’hy- what...what was that word? What does it mean?'

 

Perhaps one day Spock will teach him the words. 

 

‘You,’ Spock says, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took a lot of liberties assuming things, like jim's recovery rate post-blood transfusion and everything. sorry if i accidentally violated some sacred canon law, i'm new to fandom and have too many feelings.
> 
> now. what should i write next......


End file.
